Numb
by I-write-hurt-not-comfort
Summary: Break doesn't want them to leave - so he shows his emotional side. Wine combined with insomnia doesn't work out well for anyone... even Break. One-shot drabble. Alcohol usage. Rated T for darker themes.


_**(A/N: It's been too long since a new fic! Expect more from Pandora Hearts; it's my new favourite anime. Break may appear OOC in this fic, but trust me, there's definitely another emotional side of him that we don't see. This takes place on the night before episode 25 of the anime. Its also a very depressing drabble; that's what happens when I write at midnight instead of sleeping...**_

 _ **Onwards with the story! Enjoy and remember to review. I'd love to know what you think of this.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: no... no... I SIMPLY WON'T! *throws tantrum* NO! *calms down* okay. I do not own Pandora Hearts or Break)**_

 **~NUMB~**

It was dark. Another bottle.

Break sat on the window sill of the Rainsworth Manor. Any day now, they'd leave.

Oz, Alice, Gilbert... They could be gone tomorrow.

"When they leave..." He said to himself (or possibly Emily), staring absentmindedly out the window into the pitch black night, "Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

"Hehehe~" Emily cackled, swaying on Break's shoulder, "Who cares?"

"Hmm, you do make a good point, Emily," He poured another glass of wine, gulping it down in one, "Perhaps I care."

Break looked down at the floor, how many bottles of wine was that? 6, 7? Did it really matter? He would never get drunk, and who knew if he'd even live to see another day.

 _Imagine if Gil drank this much..._ he thought to himself. He smirked, imagining all the times he'd seen Gil crying on the floor because he'd had one too many shots, or his head hanging over the toilet the next morning because he was painfully hung-over.

Another glass; another bottle. What time was it?

Did it matter?

Break quickly looked up at the clock on the shelf, noting the time: _03:04_. Maybe he should sleep.

Before he could drink one final glass and proceed to trying to sleep, he heard the door handle click. His head snapped around, facing the door.

"Break?" A soft voice asked. Break turned his head to face the window again, "What are you still doing up?"

Refusing to look at the other, he continued staring at the stars, the moon illuminating his face. "I could ask you the same question, Oz..."

"I was heading back from the bathroom... and I saw the light was on in here."

Break paused, "Why did you assume it was me?" He asked, sipping the wine, "Could've been Gilbert."

"What would Gil be doing up at this time?" Oz questioned curiously, tilting his head at Break.

"I don't know, chain smoking?"

Oz looked down at all the bottles on the floor, briefly meeting Break's eyes before they focused elsewhere. "Like you're doing with alcohol?"

"Hm," Break replied, swirling the blood red liquid around in his glass, "I guess you could say that."

"I still can't believe how high your alcohol tolerance is..." Oz noted all 7 empty bottles stacked up neatly on the table. He laughed, "It must be handy, being able to drink all the alcohol you want and never get drunk."

Looking back out to the Manor's back garden, Break opened the window and emptied the rest of his glass out onto the balcony - he'd clean that up in the morning. "No... Not really."

"But, why?" Oz asked him, curiously.

"Because, no matter how much you drink, you can never feel numb. You can never forget." Break decided upon pouring yet another glass, "... In all honestly, if wine helped me to forget everything, then I'd have turned to alcoholism years ago."

Oz smiled weakly yet sympathetically, walking over to the window where Break sat and leaning on the wall next to him. "We'll be leaving you soon. It'll be a burden off of you."

"No," Break sighed, placing his glass next to him and shutting the window; it was getting cold. "That's what I _don't_ want."

"You don't want us to leave?"

Break shook his head. "No, it'll be lonely without you guys."

"Oh..." Oz hesitated, eyes focused on the 7 empty bottles. They'd been Break's sorry attempt at escaping. "Sorry..."

"It's alright. It doesn't really matter anyway," Break stood up, ensuring that the balcony door was locked and picking up his half empty glass before walking to the door, "Shall we leave?"

Oz nodded, following Break out of the room and flicking off the light. He reached his own room first.

"G'night, Break." The blonde child waved him off before shutting his bedroom door. Break turned and continued to walk until he finally reached his own room. It was opposite Gilbert's. He smiled inwardly as he briefly looked at the door, wondering if Gilbert was actually asleep. He almost never slept.

Turning the handle to his own room, Break finished his last glass before laying down in his bed. He turned and faced the window. It wasn't as if he was going to sleep anyway.

He squinted, the moon suddenly becoming too bright to face that way. The sun would be rising in about an hour and a half. Placing his arms crossed under his head, Break shifted to lying on his front. He laid his head onto his folded arms, shutting his eyes. His own world slowly twisted into darkness.

Sleep.

Sleep.

 _Sleep!_ He mentally yelled at himself, cursing at his insomnia. No matter how long he had lived, or been inhuman in so many ways, he couldn't hide the fact that even _he_ had to get some rest every once in a while.

He might fall unconscious; he might die.

At least then he'll forgot. At least then he'll feel numb enough.

 _Another drink maybe... Just make the hangover in a few hours worse_ Break thought to himself as he jumped out of bed, traipsing down the stairs to the kitchen. Even though he didn't get drunk, every now and again when he did drink too much, the next morning could be pretty miserable.

Once he returned with a new bottle of wine, he refilled his glass and gulped that one instantly, leaning on the drawers. Looking down at the pictures lined precisely across the top, Break notice one picture which really struck a chord.

It had Gil and Vincent as young children, running around playing tag. Chasing after them was an even younger Elliot, face flat on the ground and crying because he'd fallen over. In the corner, sitting alone was Break. He looked exactly the same; no ageing, no differences, no nothing.

In all honestly, he felt like nothing. The death he was awaiting couldn't come soon enough.

A single tear made its way down his face, trailing down his cheek and landing on the photograph in his grip. Rubbing it off with his oversized sleeve, Break put the golden frame back into the drawers and sat on his bed, leaning up against the head board.

He picked up his glass, drinking the last bit and throwing it across the room, glass shattering against the wall and hard wooden floors. Just another thing to add to his mental checklist for the morning.

That is, if he made it till morning.

Eventually, after another bottle of wine straight from the rim, and at 4:00am, Break finally slept.

And for the first time in a long time, he dreamt. He dreamt about the friends he'd made, the experiences he'd had. Any other person would have thought it was their death. But Break hadn't forgotten it; he was yet to die.

When morning came, the sun beamed through his window, light reflecting off his motionless body.

For the first time in a while, he had managed to feel nothing.

To feel numb.


End file.
